


star by star

by Sasskarian



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, OT3, OT3 with room to spare, Polyamory, Spoilers, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:06:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21881488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sasskarian/pseuds/Sasskarian
Summary: All of them are broken, so much trauma riding under their skins; so much to take on, to soothe kiss by kiss and star by star, that the work might never be done....she just might be okay with that.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 24
Kudos: 152





	star by star

The galaxy looks different now. 

It’s not just the cautious celebrations still happening, weeks later. And it’s not just the way people step back from her now, too much reverence in them for her comfort. It’s in the way she looks at the sky and sees the color of Luke’s eyes, and the gentle wind that feels so much like Leia’s hand, she cries. The way that Poe’s back straightens at the podium, broadcasting Republic news to everyone, and Finn’s hand clutching his under the table, their life forces bright and right in her senses. 

But most of all, it’s in the little holes in the world she wishes contained a pair of kaf-brown eyes and a crooked smile. 

That smile must have been genetic, honestly. A parsec wide, too wide for his face, almost, and somehow sly and charming and bashful all at once. If his father had had any idea how potent that smile was, what he could have done with it, Rey knows that no one in the galaxy would have been safe from him. And his son inherited it. 

Even here, safe in a bed that still doesn’t quite feel right-- too soft, too big, almost suffocating in its own luxury-- with Poe to her left and Finn behind her, there’s still room. 

Poe’s fingers drift over her side, one hand sliding under his head. They haven’t been intimate yet-- everything is so familiar, and yet, still too new to push that far. But his touch is a comfort, a soft brush of knuckles and callouses like he’s trying to course correct her free-fall. Finn snorts softly, already asleep; of all of them, he falls asleep the fastest, and sleeps the deepest, and under the heavy blanket of sorrow, there’s a small bubble of amusement. 

“You know,” Poe whispers, a glint of mischief in his eyes, “if we ever did tell him we loved him, he’d probably sleep right through it.”

Rey touches her fingers to his lips, tracing the shape of his questioning smile. It’s an invitation to play, that smile. A careful offer of love, of comfort. And though she’s not sure if he can really understand when even she doesn’t, she’s finally ready to try a little. 

“He’d probably sleep through another Death Star,” she whispers back. A poor shot in the dark, but she’s trying. The Rey of a few months ago, the Rey who flew to Ahch-To without hesitation, who ran through the snow and fought troopers to save her friends, she would have had something better to say. But Rey is tired, her very soul on the verge of powering down into stand-by just to get some peace.

“...you still miss him.” Poe knows better than to make it a question. And Rey knows better than to dodge, again, so the hurt pierces her heart, bounces off the back of her ribs, and slides up her throat, painful and hot and so goddamn heavy. A tear rolls down her cheek, and against her fingers, Poe’s smile collapses in on itself as he settles her head against his chest. 

Finn grumbles, still asleep, and follows her, his hand splaying out possessively over Poe’s hip. 

“I want to say it’s okay,” Poe says, burying his nose in her hair. “But that feels empty.” 

“...I tried so hard.” Her voice is almost too quiet to hear. “I fought so hard to bring him back.”

“You did.” Kisses rain down on her forehead, her wet eyes, her nose. Anything he can reach. Through their bond (so much smaller, so much more… mortal, almost, than the echoing, hollow space that Palpatine had raided, had stolen Ben from) she can feel his own pain, a sympathy hurt to hers. “You did, Rey.”

Too tired to even wipe at her face, she just listens to Poe’s heart under her ear. It’s a constant sound, soothing in a way, and the steadfastness steals the fire from her voice when she says, “...he still left me. They all did.” 

Finn’s voice surprises her, hoarse with sleep. “We won’t.” A kiss, half-assed and somehow still perfect, ghosts over the top of her spine and the hand currently claiming Poe’s left hipbone gives her a quick squeeze. “But if you start bringing home every cute stray who tries to kill us, we’re gonna fight about it.”

That startles a laugh out of her: rusty, like she’s forgotten how to, but genuine enough to lighten some of the shadows in her heart. “Cute, huh?”

He shrugs, in the middle of a jaw-cracking yawn. “In an evil, ‘blah blah blah dark side’ kind of way, sure.” 

Poe fakes an outraged squawk as she turns over, her nose brushing the sparse hair on Finn’s chest. He still feels sleepy, but when she tilts her head up, he rests his forehead against hers, warm and content. Comfort ripples through her, quelling some of the storm-ravaged waves in her heart (so much like Exegol’s oceans, white-capped fury smashing against each other without mercy). 

“He wasn’t evil at the end,” she replies, softly. 

“Still tried to kill us,” Finn points out. “ _Multiple_ times.” Rey opens her mouth, then sighs. He’s not exactly _wrong._

In the dark, Finn’s lips find hers, gentle and sweet. He doesn’t feel like Ben: the song between them is different, softer and quieter. Ben raged against her senses, first in fury then in wonder, so tentative and unsure. Even wrapped in darkness, that uncertainty wound around and through him until he shed it. Until his face healed, changed from Kylo to _Ben._

(When, for a moment when time itself stood still, when everything was _right_ with the galaxy, and he _allowed himself_ to love her)

Finn is… soft. More than anything, Finn is all soft edges and _I’ll catch you when you fall._ The bruised places that still whisper stormtrooper are buried under mornings with buttery sunlight pouring through their window. Stolen kisses, and Force ripples, and the way the three of them slide together, messy and mismatched and perfect. Finn is soft, and steady, and all the things Rey is not. But… maybe, someday, all the things she can hope to be. 

And Poe, she thinks, as he curls close, his fingers trailing her hip. Their flyboy is strong. One might even say stubborn, forgivable only by his charm and the authority that rests naturally on his shoulders. And yet, despite that, he is so _careful_ with them, so patient. All of them are broken, so much trauma riding under their skins; so much to take on, to soothe kiss by kiss and star by star, that the work might never be done. 

...she just might be okay with that. 

“We have you, Rey,” Poe murmurs. “We always have you.”

Rey misses Ben Solo. With every beat of her heart, there’s an echo, a piece missing. But, like his mother, his father, and his uncle, Ben is a ghost in the fabric of the universe, and he will wait patiently for her. Here, in a bed still too big, with just a little too much room, the living go on shining like the twin suns of the Skywalker home planet.

And so must she.


End file.
